I'll Be Home for Christmas
by sillynekorobs
Summary: Kirk invites his favorite doctor and his favorite Vulcan home to Iowa for holiday shore leave. Cookies, kittens, friendships, and festive mishaps abound! Some Kirk/Bones, and Spock being painfully logical.


**AN:** I just realized I haven't written a holiday fic since high school. High school! Four years ago, man! That's practically the Stone Age, yeesh. Ah, well. Here we have a silly little nugget of holiday fluff, to celebrate both the joys of the season and my happiness in reconnecting with the Trekkie in me.

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek is the property of someone else. Roddenberry or Paramount or someone like that. Not me. I make no profit from this story.

* * *

It smelled like sugar cookies and a freshly cut pine tree. It smelled like home at Christmastime. Childhood habits dying hard, James Kirk had barely kicked off his muddy boots in the doorway before he was running for the kitchen. "She made cookies! I knew she wouldn't forget to make cookies! Whoo!"

"Damn it, Jim—get back here and tell us what we're supposed to do!"

In seconds Kirk was back, ruffled blonde head peeking out of the kitchen. A cookie was caught firmly in his teeth. "Jus' drop'a shtuff anahware."

"What?"  
"I said," he clarified, taking the cookie out of his mouth, "just drop the stuff anywhere."

"If by 'anywhere' you mean that we should leave our luggage in the entryway of your home, the likelihood of someone tripping is—"

"Okay, okay, jeez! We'll put it in the den for now."

"And what should I do with this?" Spock held out the small tortoiseshell kitten that had been nestling in his arms.

"I'll take that. I have to put its collar on. Bones, the plant can go on the table."

"'Bout time." Muttering, the doctor tried to get his coat off and onto the rack without dropping the potted poinsettia. "Don't let that cat chew on this, by the way. It's poisonous."

Sweeping the kitten into his arms, Kirk allowed his inner captain to take charge. "Alright, gentlemen, welcome to our humble abode. Boots in the closet to your right, coats on the rack to your left, baggage to the den straight ahead, and then everyone into the kitchen for cookies!"

"What if I don't want a cookie?" McCoy challenged, muffled somewhat by the scarf that had somehow tightened around his mouth as he pulled at it.

"Then when she gets back I'll just have to tell my mother that she spent hours slaving over a hot oven to bake for her guests and McCoy wasn't good enough to taste her cookies."

"You would, wouldn't you." McCoy sighed in defeat, getting the scarf off his neck at last but tangling it around the plant he held in the process. "Alright, fine, I'll have a cookie."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

They dispersed then, Spock disappearing in the direction of the den with the single, modest article of luggage he had brought down on shore leave. Kirk happily motioned McCoy and his poinsettia into the warm kitchen, but stopped him in the doorway.

"Hey, Bones."

"Huh?"

"Look up."

McCoy did. "Aw, Jim. Seriously?" They were standing under mistletoe.

For an answer, Kirk just laughed and caught him around the neck with one arm. The kitten mewed in protest as she was gently pressed between their chests and McCoy rolled his eyes… but leaned in for the kiss anyway with the beginnings of an indulgent smile tugging at his lips.

"The act of kissing under shriveled plant matter seems quite illogical."

Twin glares leveled at the half-Vulcan newly returned from the den. Spock blinked.

"However, as you have been generous enough to invite me into your home to share in your holiday festivities, I shall refrain from commenting on the lack of logic involved in your customs."

"Thank you." Kirk huffed, turning back around with a kissable pout in place. But his kiss-ee had already vacated the doorway and was busy positioning his flowering gift for Winona Kirk in the middle of the kitchen table. Kirk pouted for real, about to insist in his best Starfleet captain's voice that his CMO get his rear back under the mistletoe where it belonged—before the kitten playfully bit his thumb. He sighed. Maybe this wasn't the best time, after all.

"Was bringing a young animal into the house at this time of year wise, Jim?" Spock asked as the critter enthusiastically began to maul the hand that held it. "It may prove detrimental to your mother's decorations."

"This is the perfect time of the year to get a kitten, Spock. Mom's wanted a pet to keep her company since I left for the Academy. We'll just have to keep an eye on this little bundle of joy and make sure she doesn't get in any trouble." Kirk took the opportunity to plunk the kitten back into his first officer's arms. "Here, hold her while I put the collar on."

McCoy snorted. "And here I had the audacity to wonder why you made us stop at a pet store as soon as we got off the damned shuttle."

"Hey, hey, the pet store that deals with an animal shelter! Starfleet officers support saving fluffy little animals. Isn't that right?" He gave the kitten a teasing poke to the nose, which she returned with an equally playful swipe of needle-sharp kitten claws. "Oww! Bones, I'm bleeding!"

"Oh, for the love of…" Tearful blue eyes and a scratched finger held inches from his face met the budding gripe. "… hang on. I can fix that." And McCoy went for his medical kit.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"Did the muffs keep your ears warm enough, Spock?"

"They were adequate. Thank you for allowing me the use of them on our outdoor venture."

"Thank my mom—they're hers."

Damp coats and muddy boots were once more left in the foyer as the three companions returned from a late afternoon walk. The winter sun was already beginning to set across the flat, bare fields of Iowa, but the red tint to the sky could barely be seen behind the veil of clouds beginning to form. McCoy had wisely suggested they turn back toward the house when it began to drizzle.

Spock sniffled a bit as he pulled off the giant red earmuffs. "These are quite useful. Had Vulcans evolved in a colder climate, they surely would be in use there as well."

Kirk looked wistfully out the window. "Keep them for now, in case it's colder tomorrow. Who knows, it _might _snow tonight. Maybe. Man, it's been years since I've had a white Christmas."

"Is this also a tradition, to have snow on the holiday?"

"Well, it all kind of depends on where you live. Some places have snow every year, like up north. Places in the south hardly ever get snow, let alone on a specific day. And then there are the middle states like us. Some years we get lucky, some years we don't. Pretty much everyone who celebrates has decorations, though. Like a tree and ornaments and stuff."

"That is quite logical. The climate cannot be expected to pander to the celebrations of the beings that inhabit any planet."

McCoy strolled into the den, a mug of bourbon-with-eggnog held possessively in his grasp. "Did you ever see a Christmas tree growing up, Spock?"

"My mother would put up an artificial tree when I was small, yes." There was almost a fondness in the commander's eyes as he regarded the Kirks' tree, sweet-smelling and waiting to be decorated. "I believe it had less to do with her own personal beliefs than it did with her desire to expose me to the customs with which she herself was raised. The longer she resided on Vulcan and the older I grew, the less she did so. It has been many years."

"Weren't there trees at the Academy every year?"

"None that I had direct contact with. They were impersonal and thus had no significance."

Kirk clapped his hands firmly. "Well, that settles it. You have to help me decorate this tree. Both of you, so no slinking away, Bones."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Would it not be more polite to wait for your mother to return before decorating her holiday tree?"

"It's okay. She won't be back from seeing the folks until later tonight anyway, and tomorrow morning it will already be Christmas, so we should at least get started." Kirk dropped to his knees and began to rummage through the storage boxes stacked next to the tree. "We can put on the lights and the garlands and a few of the ornaments, and when she comes home we can put on the sentimental stuff."

"Like this?" Grinning, McCoy leaned down over his shoulder and pulled what seemed to be a congealed mass of green Popsicle sticks, buttons, and glitter out of the ornament box.

"I made that in third grade!" Kirk began indignantly, before a crash from near the hearth caught both their attentions. "What was that?"

There was a flash of multicolored fur and the tinkle of a small bell as the kitten bounded through the porcelain Nativity set. A tiny figure bounced across the rug. Spock coughed lightly. "I believe she has ejected your mother's infant deity from its resting place, Jim."

Kirk was on his feet in an instant, chasing the cat down the hallway. "That's a bad kitty! Bad, bad, bad!"

McCoy chuckled around a sip of his eggnog, gently lowering Kirk's homemade ornament back into the box with more than a little affection. "Gives a whole new meaning to the words 'jumpin' Jesus,' doesn't it?"

**o-o-o-o-o **

"I'm impressed, kid. You haven't managed to set off the smoke alarm yet."

With a mock scowl, Kirk wielded a spatula in the general direction of the doorway where McCoy stood. "Just keep it up, old man. Call me 'kid' one more time. Insult my apron again. Hint that you think I'll set the house on fire. One more smart comment and there will be no grilled cheese for you!"

"Oh, it's a tragedy. I'll have to eat my tomato soup all by its lonesome."

Winona Kirk was something rare in the days of replicator technology—a good cook. James Kirk was somewhat less proficient. However, he had set his sights on making his friends a good ol' fashioned cold weather staple for dinner, and he wasn't about to throw in the towel on account of a few scorched sandwiches and one minor burn.

"Are you sure you don't require assistance?" Spock asked from the den. He was still engrossed with the changing patterns of the lights on the tree, enough so that Kirk and Bones had begun to wonder if he had fallen into one of those Vulcan meditation trances.

"I'm fine, Spock. Another human tradition, at least around here, is making your company a warm meal. It'll be done in a minute."

"And every good host can thank heaven for condensed soups and processed cheese product, am I right?" A moment later there was a clatter as a ladle narrowly missed Bones' head and hit the wall beside the door. "Dammit, Jim, I was just teasing! And now there's tomato soup on the wallpaper! I'm not cleaning that up, just so you'll know."

McCoy turned huffily away from the kitchen—only to be met almost nose to nose by Spock, who regarded him curiously with the expression he wore when he studied interesting new life forms. The doctor's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you want?"

Without further ado Spock leaned forward and kissed McCoy's cheek. For a moment, all McCoy could do was stare in shocked silence. But only for a moment. "Hey! What the hell was that for, you weirdo?!"

"You are standing beneath the dead plant matter. I was attempting to mimic Jim's actions earlier this afternoon, for the purpose of practicing the holiday customs of my friends. Did I do something wrong in my attempt?"

Bones slapped a palm to his forehead. "First of all, you of all people should know better than to copy anything Jim does. And secondly, only kiss people under there if you're romantically attracted to that person under normal circumstances, alright?"

An ebony brow rose. "I see. So when I visit Lieutenant Uhura's home for the New Year's festivities, I should attempt to kiss her under the dead plants?"

"It's called _mistletoe_, for cryin' out loud! And yeah, kiss her under it. Kiss her at midnight on New Year's, too. And most importantly: never, ever kiss me again!"

"Understood. Thank you for your advice, Doctor."

Grumbling, McCoy stalked away to find more bourbon, accompanied by Kirk's merry laughter.

**o-o-o-o-o**

"She's going to buy you both socks, you know." Draped over the sofa on his back, Kirk watched upside down as McCoy moved back and forth across the room. A fire crackled cozily in the grate, while the multi-colored lights on the tree continued to glow softly. "If you're in her house on Christmas morning you're going to get a present, and for some reason Mom thinks men can't have enough socks."

"I'm sure I'll treasure them for years to come." Dropping down beside him, McCoy offered over a mug. "Here, I made you some hot chocolate."

Kirk sat up to accept the gift. "Aww, Bonesy, you shouldn't have."

"Probably not."

Taking a sip and slurping up a partially melted marshmallow, the blonde set his mug to the side and rolled to drop his head in McCoy's lap. "Hey, Bones? Do you remember the first time you ever made me hot cocoa?"

"No."

"Sure you do. It was at the end of that first semester at the Academy, when—"

"When my dumb-ass roommate decided to wait until the night before the term paper was due to start working on it. I might remember that."

Kirk grinned, stealthily slinking upright until he could situate himself in McCoy's lap. "Yeah, that's right. It was two in the morning and I was down at the lab working on that big, nasty paper all by myself."

"The lab was full of other procrastinators just like you."

"Yeah, but I was still lonely." Pouting, Kirk trailed a finger up and down McCoy's upper arm. The doctor was smiling despite himself. "But then wonderful Bonesy came down in his pajamas and brought me a cup of hot cocoa, and sat and talked with me all night while I wrote my paper. I was so touched."

"I came down to sit with you," McCoy clarified with a roll of his eyes, "because when you left our room you looked like the most pitiful lost puppy in San Francisco." His arms tightened around the freeloader in his lap as their foreheads affectionately touched. "And if I recall correctly you were ready to throw me out after ten minutes of looking over your shoulder and telling you your writing was crap."

"That's just because you're a horrible backseat writer." Sensing an opening, Kirk leaned closer with a triumphant grin. Their lips were barely touching, McCoy's eyes were drifting lazily closed, victory was imminent—

"Jim? Doctor?"

"What?!" McCoy jumped. Kirk slipped between his friend's suddenly spread knees and hit the carpet beside the sofa with a thud as Bones whipped around to face the Vulcan that had suddenly appeared behind them. "For godsake, you creepy hobgoblin, don't sneak up on people like that!"

On the floor, Kirk began to muse. "And the odds of foisting him off on Uhura a few days early would be…?"

"I see I have startled you. My apologies." Spock gestured behind, toward the dark window. "I merely thought that the captain might wish to know that it is now snowing."

"For real?" Kirk popped upright immediately, a big smile chasing the annoyance off his face.

"Yes. I happened to notice it while extracting the kitten from the curtains in the dining room."

The blonde jumped to his feet and seized McCoy by the wrist. "Come on, let's all go out and look!"

"Damn it, Jim, how old are you? It's freezing out there." Soulful blue eyes directed themselves at the doctor. "… hold on. I'll get my coat."

Two minutes later found the friends on the open deck, hastily bundled in coats and gloves. The red muffs completely obscured Spock's pointed ears. McCoy huddled under his hat and scarf, muttering halfheartedly as snow swirled around them on a brisk breeze.

"It's coming down so hard," Kirk marveled, tracing a finger through the powder that had already accumulated on the porch railing. "We might get a white Christmas after all, Bones."  
"Whatever floats your boat, kid."

"It does possess something of a serene beauty." Spock cocked his head, gazing out across the darkened landscape. The deep blackness was broken only by flying flakes driven close enough to pick up, for the small pinprick of a moment, the glow of the porch light. "It almost seems as if the entire countryside has been hushed by the snowfall."

"Or that could just be the earmuffs."

Kirk snickered into his gloved hand. "Alright, you guys. We can go back in now, if you want. I just wanted to see."

"Thought you'd never say so." McCoy held open the door and all but shepherded them through, back into the warmth of the house. "Last thing I need is to have to explain how two of Starfleet's most valuable officers got pneumonia with the CMO of their ship staying in the same house."

"It is highly unlikely that pneumonia would be contracted in such a short amount of time, Doctor."

"Just can it and get in the house."

Back inside, the evening settled into a comfortable lull. Kirk helped himself to more cocoa. Spock settled in front of the fireplace to reestablish prime Vulcan body temperature after their brief outdoor adventure. McCoy tripped over the kitten on the way to the bathroom and nearly turned an ankle. All in all, most relaxing.

"When is your mother expected, Jim?" Spock finally seemed to have thawed out.

"Any time, now. It's already after eight." Kirk dropped to the sofa and unrepentantly nestled up against McCoy. He was not shoved away. "And then we'll have more cookies, and finish decorating the tree, and we can all get some sleep. A nice, long, happy sleep with no emergency sirens going off, no accidents we have to fix, no unexpected plans we have to be a part of—"

"No one falling deathly ill or going into labor in the middle of the night," McCoy muttered almost dreamily, head falling onto Kirk's shoulder as if he just didn't have the willpower to stop the action.

"That will indeed be pleasant."

"Careful, Spock. Someone will start to believe you actually appreciate shore leave like the rest of us normal beings."

Pointedly ignoring McCoy, the half-Vulcan looked back over his shoulder to address the captain. "It has also occurred to me to inquire where we will be sleeping tonight. Is there adequate space for two guests?"

"Oh, you bet. You can sleep in my old room, and Bones and I will sleep in the guest room."

A thick, black brow rose. "I do not wish to usurp your room from you, Jim. It does not seem polite. Would it not be more logical for the Doctor and I to cohabit the guest quarters while you retain access to your own space?"

Kirk blinked. "Maybe you didn't get all that the first time. Let me repeat. You can sleep in my old room, and Bones and I… will sleep _together_…" here he hugged the doctor's arm possessively and McCoy covered his flushing face with one hand, "in the _bigger_ bed… in the guest room."

"Indeed." The brow rose higher, if that was in fact possible. "Very well. I believe I understand your inferred message, and will not question the matter further."

"I knew you were a genius, Spock."

For all that Spock's expression never changed, Kirk could somehow tell he was smirking on the inside as he turned back to face the fire. The blonde grinned. He curled back up against a muttering Bones, tucking his feet under a throw pillow as he did. On a night like this, in the best of company, he could deal with that.

* * *

The end.

* * *

**(2nd)AN:** I love these three Starfleet goobers. I think it's almost impossible not to. Merry Christmas, everyone, and Happy Holidays!


End file.
